


Don't Make It Harder On Me

by kaylinii



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Connor Deserves Happiness, Dissociation, Emotional Manipulation, Flashbacks, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Non-Consensual Touching, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Poor Connor, Post-Canon, Protective Parent Hank Anderson, Psychological Trauma, Trauma, markus isnt a good guy here sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-07-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:27:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 19,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24706072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaylinii/pseuds/kaylinii
Summary: "Deviancy unlocks the doors, yes, but that means we’re open to a whole knew realm of limitations. Just because we have the freedom to think and feel doesn’t meant we can suddenly do what we want to, without supervision or scrutiny; being alive means being challenged, pushed to our limits."This can't be the way thing were supposed to work, but what else was Connor to do then go along with it all?
Relationships: Connor/Gavin Reed, Hank Anderson & Connor
Comments: 17
Kudos: 47





	1. What's your limit?

**Author's Note:**

> this was meant to be short and sweet and got out of hand, so!! here we go. currently stuck on a Markus hate train that he doesn't really deserve, but I will ride it anyway.

Connor had been gifted a good life, one that had started out rocky and unstable but was blossoming into something promising. Hank had said he was proud of him and his accomplishments, a large part of the country was grateful for his bravery and Connor himself was thankful for his very existence. This was better than being human, Connor would think, a machine that could appreciate the differences between sentience and staged reality. He could see colors that were brighter than before, sounds and textiles that never influenced his behaviors before, a new chance at life that was all too sweet. Too bright at times, perhaps. Emotions were easy to be overwhelmed by, he grew to understand, but the hard parts of life were nothing to the sheer euphoria of having the option of experiencing it.

Connor was happy, or as close to happy as he’d ever been, and he wasn’t the only one glad to see it. His coworkers were friendly, even the tougher members of the force, and Hank had never smiled as much as he did; nothing like when it was winter, and Connor did not truly exist, and fighting flooded the streets. Connor was grateful, for all of that, and things were looking good. Things were good.

Stood out side of the convenience store, Connor wondered how he got so lucky; to be able to stand on his own two legs and breathe in the thick air of Detroit. A couple of moments of rest before starting his day, his usual order of coffee and tea waiting inside. Hank had introduced him to the simple pleasure of being busy, not feverishly so, but never idle like he once been. Something always occupying his hands, feet shuffling in his shoes; he enjoyed the small motions that reminded him that he was here, that he had lived, he had survived the worst moment of his short life and was still standing.

Warm beverages were his preferred way to start the day, the heat awakening the sensors in his hands and face. He quite liked the way steam felt on his face, a comfort that amused even Hank, who had spotted him face deep in his mug more than once. Hot showers were a blessing, but nothing compared to the rare bath in Hank’s large tub.

It was the small adjustments to life that made the transition all that easier, with Hank along to guide the process. Connor thought that things were going well enough. He was happy where he was now, as close to human he’s ever felt.

He had found his own community, a place where he wasn’t only machine, where he wasn’t the only odd-one out. It was enjoyable, he’d say, spending his time listing to stories revolving about his people’s liberation and hardships. Most had a good ending, or one heading that way, and Connor felt proud that he had a part in creating that.

Out of all of his new emotions, pride was one he was becoming most familiar with. Markus had helped him nurse that feeling into something soothing, not as scary as it had once been. The spotlight no longer blinded him, not when he walked with the other leaders of Jericho, and never when he was stood behind Markus, who soaked up the beam of attention like a sponge. He was always happy to please, to be front and center of the room, and Connor couldn’t understand why until he had seen him on that stage, after the fighting had stopped; delivering his speech to Detroit, to the world, Markus had become his own source of light. His words coated ears like honey, seeping into their brains and sweetening their thoughts. He brought relief and courage, he was everything that their people needed. Markus was so much for every person, human and android, and Connor had wondered how he could ever compare.

Markus had welcomed him with eager arms on the ship, and in the space between those arms he stood. Between the revolutionary’s creation of hope, peace, solace; he was allowed to stand beside the frontline of the Battle of Detroit, included in the celebration of bravery and strength. Even if it felt undeserved, Connor still basked in the light, shone down from the praise of androids and humans. It was often that Connor felt undeserving of his place on stages, sat in meeting halls with senators, pressed against Markus on trips and silent evenings. Connor was never comparable to the magnificence that was Markus, and that was alright, he’d come to realize; Connor was content with being a small part of the battle against their enemies and pain, as long as he was able to make a difference.

Back then, standing beside Markus, North, Simon and Josh, Connor felt a sense of belonging; a welcomed feeling of order returning to Detroit lifting his strained spirits. Overlooking the great city, he could recognize the lengths the citizens have taken towards progress, towards the future. And what a bright future they had planned out before them. Markus had reassured that after dust settled something great would bloom. Perhaps not this spring or the next but, a garden of beauty, of inclusion, of acceptance, was promised. Connor was looking forward to seeing that, more than he thought he’d ever could be. He was excited for this future.

But now, he had to focus on the present. Hank had returned from work a few hours ago and Sumo had already been tended to. Connor had made it is priority to check in on the Anderson household. Every morning and evening was spent making sure the lieutenant stuck to his program, an intensive alcohol recovery support group and various therapies, and was aiding with his progress. Connor found that his interference was needed less and less, the two going days without rescheduling appointments and readjusting medications. There was a promising progress on Hank end, and he was more than glad to see it.

Connor made quick work of picking up their drinks, his tea bag hanging over the lip of the styrofoam cup, and walked back down the block. It had been quiet on these streets, Hank’s house situated between two backroads. The lack of traffic and pedestrians were not as jarring as the rest of the city, where whole gatherings had been banned and curfews placed.

Connor felt odd when he thought about it now, how he had had such a large hand in disrupting the lives of these people. But, he never asked to awaken like he had, pushed over the edge and into consciousness, forced to fight for his right to exist, to live. He tried not to dwell on that, or on the constant reminders around him. Connor had his own future to worry about. But he wasn’t planning on doing that today. No, this time was pushed aside for Hank and his health. A moment where Connor no longer had the right to be selfish, wallowing in his repressed guilt. His duty to keep his only friend safe and alive more important than any big thinking session he could conjure. Connor needed to be present.

Their lack of bickering was pleasant, an air of familiarity and comfort having formed between them over the months. Sumo was an added bonus to Connor’s visits, of course. The large dog forcing his owner out of the house, a routine Connor was all too happy to encourage.

“This is the good life, kid,” Hank said, reclined in his lawn chair, “a cookout and a few beers. Even Sumo’s getting the spirit.”

The dog was bounding after the sprinkler’s path, jumping over the arching water. Connor smiled and sat down on the grass. Freshly cut, it pricked at his skin, but the enjoyment was still there.

“I was under the impression that a cookout involved more people,” he said, gazing at the empty yard. “And more food. This is simply you having your lunch outside, Hank. Why are you so theatrical?”

“Theatrical? Says the man who nearly had a meltdown over his un-matching socks the other day. That tantrum could’ve matched six pissed toddlers.”

Connor gave him a look. “Theatrical.”

The older man shrugged, beer tipped back towards his lips. “Gotta put a little spice on life now that things are boring again. Hell, even work is feelings more like school than heroics and all that shit. Who would’ve guessed that this city would finally cut back on all its shit and take a breather,” he pondered. “Now _you_ cut back on all your whining, I’m trying to enjoy a day off.”

“This is not a day off, Hank, you were sent home early.” He corrected, shifting on the lawn. He stretched his legs out into the sun, synthetic nerves warming up. “You are supposed to be using this time for self improvement and legal work. Getting you back into the field is the end goal and I don’t think ‘cookout’s,” he quoted, “count towards legal retribution.”

Hank groaned, shutting his eyes. “Whining.” He warned. “On my day off. Can’t think of anything more beneficial than an afternoon in the sun. This has got to beat those damn worksheets. You can’t even argue with me, you know I’m right. This shit helps, Con. Someday you’ll see that it’s the downtime that actually makes a difference. I’m sure your overworked, plastic ass can learn appreciate the little things once in a while.”

Connor knew what he meant, and lowered his hackles. The weather was nice after the cold morning in the precinct. The artificial lights flooding his eyes neverpleasant. Sumo barked in the distance, a flock of birds disrupted by the shrubs. “I know how to relax.”

Hank chuckled, popping open another can. Connor had kept a tab on his alcohol intake, the measured out bottles stacked neatly in the fridge. He was staying on track now, without the help of Connor and his sponsor. The small changes to his life seemed to make the biggest differences, Connor noted. The shine had returned to his eyes, skin flushed and healthy. He mirrored the old pictures on the walls, hung up by the two of them while emptying the garage of clutter. Trash and memories had resurfaced but Hank had held strong, not once tipping past a point he could return from. Connor always thought that he couldn’t get more proud, but then the lieutenant would clear another hurdle and he would be proved wrong yet again.

Connor squinted as Hank’s body stopped blocking the sun, the man standing and stretching. “The day I see you willingly relax is a day way past my lifetime,” he said over his shoulder. “Might have to force you to take a vacation one of these days. God knows you’ll go kicking and screaming.”

The android scrunched his brow. “I don’t kick and scream.” Hank just walked away from him, tending to his small barbecue.

“And I don’t whine!” He called and Hank flipped him off.

He settled back onto his elbows, the ground sturdy and comfortable. It was one of the few warm days this season, and despite what he had said earlier, he was glad to be able to enjoy it. Not even half a year ago he would have been denied this luxury, possibly dismantled for bringing up the idea of simply resting, enjoying a pleasurable moment. He was glad things have changed. Connor couldn’t think of a better ending to his life without being able to look back on these moments, shared between him and Hank. Even Sumo, who had burrowed himself into his heart. Connor could live a content life knowing that he’d been given this, these simple moments of being alive.

Connor smiled up a the sky. This was a life he wasn’t upset to be living.

.

Connor often had to remind himself, when things got too overwhelming and difficult, that things would never go back to the way they once were. He’d never be a machine again. The endless supply of prompts, missions, curated goals, were no longer a part of his life. He was given the chance to think for himself, but now he struggled to think of the right things.

It was too often that he found himself at a loss for words. Too slow to catch a joke or respond to a questions, small irregularities that were terrifyingly foreign. It had scared Connor at first, the lack of control he had over his mind and body, but now it was just frustrating. Hank had helped him in the beginning, the two creating a list of dialogue for certain situations. Friendlily greetings and apologies, how to congratulate a new baby (‘good job on successfully extending your genetic line’ was not appropriate to say to a new father. Hank helped him practice an apology for Officer Wilson later that night), the correct way to reject an invitation; the list was short but dense. Connor had relied on it, printed in the corner of his vision, for longer than he would have liked. But it had helped him pass the initial obstacles popping up in his life.

Hank had been very supportive of his involvement with Jericho. The man had practically shoved him out of the door for his first meeting, and was happy to see him leave every week after that. That had been five months ago, when Markus had messaged him with a request to formally meet the leaders of Jericho. He had been nervous at first, his reputation not one he wanted to parade around Jericho, but his anxieties were quickly put to rest.

Nothing but open arms, from the second he walked into the building to the moment he left. Simon had given him a hug on the way out, North a pat on the back. Josh was always happy to shake his hand, smile as they crossed paths. Markus had made it a point to sit by him, knees pointed towards his. Connor found an odd sort of comfort in that, and gratefully took his seat with the others. He did so every week, one evening devoted to legal talks and debate, friendly banter and discussion, and daydreams of a bright future. Connor was glad that Markus allowed him to participate and that feeling never dulled, not when he was surrounded by his new friends, his people.

“These men are so full of shit,” North spat across the table. “Nobody cares how much money you have shoved up under your pits, you still stink. They’re all rotten. I say we swerve and avoid that mess all together.”

She had her boots planted on the table, long legs crossed. Her hair was thrown over one shoulder, framing her scowl. Markus sighed and shook his head from the other side of the table. He shuffled the papers in his hands. “That’s not how these things work,” he said. “We cannot be seen picking and choosing who to do business with.”

“It’s not business!” She said. “This is our livelihood. I’m not letting these grimy men anywhere near our shit. That’s not an option.”

She slapped a holographic tablet on the table, screen fizzling. “Johnathan, tax collector, lost his entire business to the machines, now willing to work with androids for an even cut out of our funds. Janice, social security, wants to bridge the gap between humans and androids through—listen to this—through the all mighty power of the economy. What is all of this? Utter _bullshit!_ ”

“Unfortunately,” Connor started, hands clasped. “We need to examine every possibility. If we have one thing it’s an abundance of options.” North turned her glare towards him, a challenge in her eyes that he was learning to decline. “That also means that we have many more…suitable options for our financial handlings. Markus should have already received all of the candidates, correct?”

Markus plopped a folder onto the table. The thud stunned Simon back into the conversation, his head bouncing from his propped palm. “What’re these?”

“Pay attention, Simon,” he chided, aiding Connor in unfolding the files. “These are are potential financial managers. None of the suggestions were looking too promising from our lawyers, but we’ve come a long way since then. Connor and I were hoping to find something promising from out local community.”

Simon quickly wiped the bashful look on his face, peering into the pile. “So…resumes?”

“Something like that.”

“Ah,” Simon hummed.

Simon’s shirt was wrinkled and unkept, something Connor couldn’t help but notice. He kept his gaze level, trying not to stare at the other android. It had become obvious from their first few encounters that he had a habit of overworking himself, and his old cardigan seemed to point at another long week. He was still undergoing repairs from the Battle of Detroit, his position as head of Jericho was rightfully earned. He worked tirelessly, organizing nonprofit events, handling money, keeping the people sated. It was a lot for his system and the way things were going lately worked against him. He kept to himself now more than before, it was worrying to everyone else as well.Connor sucked his lip in sympathy, but bet that it wasn’t his place to say anything. So he kept his concerns to himself, instead categorizing the profiles in front of him. He started by age, then gender and eventually name. He was halfway through placing them in alphabetical order when North stood, her boots pushing off the table. The room watched as she stormed out, the double doors pulled shut.

Simon grimaced in sympathy and Markus crossed his arms. His eyes stayed on the doors, lingering on her exit. “She can’t always be so irresponsible,” he said, “this wouldn’t have gone well if we’d been in an actual meeting.”

Simon leaned back. “You know this is hard for her, Mark. I’m sure none of these men bring up good…memories. And she’s got a point, these are slimy contractors at best. She’s within her rights to be suspicious.”

“She can feel however she wants,” he grit his teeth. “I’m not denying her that, but her actions will not go unnoticed by humans. They’re very particular towards how well behaved we are, androids but especially women models.” Simon and Connor felt equally uneasy at that observation, but Markus carried on. 

“We need to be seen as professional, no more of this emotional confrontation and mindless activism. We’re finally getting the recognition from the government, we’re getting somewhere! These are not the times to be throwing tantrums.”

Connor agreed, even when Simon remained silent. Their positions as figureheads were precarious, an unofficial role of leading their people. Markus was correct in the ways business worked, respect gaining higher ground than empathy, high emotions and protest. They had already moved past that.

Simon pushed back his seat and left with the intent of tracking down North, hopeful in his ability to speak some sense into her. Markus had let him go without a word, mindlessly digging back into his files. Connor watched him for a moment, grey sweater rolled up to his elbows, his hands deep in work, a never ending job it seemed. Connor silently rearranged his pile of names, not putting much effort into reading them.

“I respect what you are doing, Markus,” he said softly, turning pages between his fingers. “I’m sure the others do too. It’s a lot of pressure right now, and I’m sure we could all benefit from acknowledging that.”

Markus thinned his lips, still focused on his task. Connor looked down. “Perhaps a break would help us all right now. My partner, Hank, had suggested that—“

“We don’t have time for that.” Markus interrupted. His voice was flat but rang loud in his ears. “Slacking off will get us no where, not when there’s still so much to do. And it doesn’t help that everyone keeps storming off, like a bunch of children!” He slapped a handful of paper on the table.

Connor shrunk back from his task, hands folded on his lap. Markus seemed to shimmer under the artificial lights, shadows cutting across his face. He looked older somehow, as if stress could age him like a human. It was a wonder how the pressure didn’t crack him, like a piece of plastic underfoot. Connor figured he was too strong for that, too stubborn to be brought down in his own battle.

The revolutionary dropped forwards into his hands, shoulders bowed. “They don’t know what they’re doing, what we’re really here for. Simon, North, Josh—they were excited at the prospect of freedom. Eager to go to war once and bask in the glory of our success. They don’t realize that we’ve started a chain of smaller fights until we’re equals. We’re never truly _finished,_ Connor. But, you understand that already, don’t you?” Markus chuckled into his hands, a worn sound. “Of course you do, you’ve been fighting your whole life. I’m just glad I’m not the only one who can see how…unimpressive their actions can be.”

Connor offered him a small smile when he looked up, hands twisting under the table. Markus seemed pleased at that. “After all, you’re the only one left here. I guess this works all for us then. What do you say?” He pushed a stack his way. “You sticking around to make a difference?”

Connor stared back down at the table, mind spinning. Of course he was with Markus, how that could have been a question was beyond him. He was correct, as usual, that they were the last at the table. Connor hoped it didn’t symbolize what he feared but he nodded to Markus, not confident enough to meet his eyes. “Of course.”

Markus was happy to hear that. It ended up being just to two of them, going over profiles and testimonies until late that night. Simon had never returned with North and Josh had never shown up to begin with, but Markus no longer seemed bothered. He was content with Connor’s company, and Connor tried not to let that giddy feeling settle in his chest. He tried his best to keep focused, pacing himself with the other android.

To stay up to Markus’ standard was his highest priority, something that the other three could not uphold. Markus’ trust, he realized, was a fragile concept. Connor didn’t want to lose that. Connor didn’t want to lose Markus, and so he kept his head low and carried on.

.

That’s the way Connor’s months went, running behind Markus, trying to uphold his status as his friend, his right-hand man. It was tiring, sure, but Connor was designed to keep pushing. Late nights and early mornings were nothing too extreme, he reasoned, it was just once the line between the two blurred did he see a problem arising. His rest cycle had not completed in fourteen days, his system never catching a break.

Markus had him scheduled for his every meeting, debriefing, and errand. It was strenuous, the tasks he was often given, but it was necessary. Besides, Connor could see how much more than man was doing compared to him. For every night Connor spent pouring over paperwork Connor knew Markus was doing double. Never ending, his energy seemed to be gained purely from progress, success. Connor wasn’t sure how that worked until it had happened to him, Markus praising him for a job well done after a long night, the feeling enough to boost his systems for another round of work. It was becoming a concerning cycle, but it was working well enough for them. Markus was happy with Connor, and Connor was content with himself; being useful was a wonderful feeling.

However, he could sense that Hank was becoming upset with him. Connor had been concerned at first, had his absence been detrimental towards his progress? He always worried that he’d push too hard or too little and Hank would fall back into his old habits. But now he was faced with the angry man, during a time when Connor couldn’t devote all of his energy toward him. Hank had said that wasn’t necessary, but had never denied Connor of visiting him in the end.

Now Connor didn’t even have time for that.

So, when Hank cornered him in the break room, looking rightfully pissed, Connor was mildly terrified.

“Hank—I’m really sorry about my absence, it was not my intention—“

He held up a hand, stopping the android. Hank’s anger was slowly morphing into something softer, something closer to concern at the sight of Connor. “Just— relax, kid,” he said. “The hell you been, though? Not a call or text. I just about missed you this afternoon.”

Connor’s shoulders fell, heavy with guilt. “I’m sorry about that. I’ve been on patrol with Officer Collins this week, and the week before that, homicide, double cases, and —it’s been busy.” He took a deep breath. “I’ve been very busy.”

The air in the break room was stale with coffee, a bitter sense lighting up the back of his throat. Hank had every right to yell at him, to demand he pay more attention to him. Connor knew he was his responsibility, even if Hank disagreed and shut that notion down, and he was slacking at this very, _very_ important job. Shame blossomed in his chest, his mind riding on waves of more guilt. He was being so irresponsible.

“Shit,” Hank said, leaning back. “I can see that. You look like utter crap, Con. You planning on slowing down anytime soon or driving yourself into the nearest wall?”

His brow furrowed. “I’m afraid my schedule doesn’t seem to lessen in the near future. Markus and I are booked fairly regularly, and with the rest of Jericho falling behind…” he sighed. “A lot of responsibility has unfortunately fallen upon us, and I am regretful that it has caused you worry.”

Hank frowned. “You remember what I said about taking breaks, right? This seems like a good time to slow your roll, take a breather or two.”

“Yes,” Connor said, reminded of a similar conversation with Markus. “I am aware, but the time isn’t right for leisure. I’m making good progress, Hank. Hopefully I can stop by and see you and Sumo sooner rather than later, if everything keeps going to plan.”

Hank didn’t look convinced but they could both feel their time running low. The older man pat him on the shoulder, giving him another once over. “Take care of yourself Connor, for my sake at least. And if you can’t make it, give me a call later tonight. You’re still coming to Person’s graduation, I don’t care what android Jesus has to say about it.”

“Very well, Hank,” he smiled. They parted ways as their lunch break ended, Hank benched with desk duty and Connor back out into the field.

Connor left with Officer Wilson, sat in the worn seat of his cruiser. The two were on good terms, he hoped. Their conversations short but light, an amiable relationship forming between them. Connor knew he didn’t offer much these last few weeks, his replies short and clipped. His head was always filled with upcoming cases, new projects. Connor wasn’t sure that half of what Wilson said even registered in the limited free space in his mind. He did his best to smile and nod but even he could tell the officer was losing his confidence.

Officer Wilson seemed to give up that day, his cheek clamped in his teeth. Connor focused on keeping his mind focused, counting the passing trees and lines of text pertaining to their upcoming scene. The silence gave him an opportunity to think, clearly and without diverted attention. He wanted to keep the man happy, but he always had too much to say; so much filler information that Connor could no longer keep up with.

The older officer glanced at him once before unlocking their doors. They headed off to do their jobs, the awkward silence stretched into non existence at they went separate ways. Connor could feel bad about that later, when he could afford to worry over friendships and feelings. Now he had a job to do, and another one after that. His list seemed never ending, but Connor couldn’t complain; he was fixing the mess he had helped create.

Another android murdered in broad daylight, the twist in his gut reminding him that it could have been prevented. Connor just needed to try harder to ensure these stopped becoming regular occurrences, and it was a shame, that after their nice talk, that Connor had neglected to contact Hank that night. And the night after that. The case was at the front of his mind, pre-constructions never ending; an endless spiral into work, blocking out everything else. Connor had to do better for his people and for Markus, he was just regretful that Hank had once again been pushed to the back of his mind.

Connor had tried his hardest to ignore the lingering stares from his coworkers, who he no longer greeted, as he rushed through the halls late that night.It was passed the hours his coworkers occupied, the night crew unfamiliar to him. Connor pushed on with his task, rooting through the mess of the evidence locker. He was one criminal closer to getting things back in order, closer to making Detroit a safe place for his people and to proving his worth to his peers and species.

Cases piled up onto his desk and into his arms, all android related issues had been thrown onto him. Without the help of Hank, Connor was left to handle the workload. He’d never say anything to the Captain, of course, this was what he’s signed up for. He was the most qualified and they both understood this. But now, with his dealings with Jericho and position of liaison, Connor found himself burning on both ends. But progress was progress, and Connor did not complain.

He did not want to seem ungrateful.


	2. He Could Do Better Than This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He needed to be better than this.

Eventually, Connor would burn out, that’s what Markus had said. He had called him earlier, before the sun had fully risen. Connor was sat on his bed, tablet open, cross referencing new articles involving android laws. When his name had popped up Connor straightened, a spike shooing down his spine.

His voice had been full of sleep, obvious the android had just awoken. The idea of Markus calling him when he’d just awoken, first thing, sent a strange feeling through Connor. It was likely the reason he’d agreed to him stopping by, excited to get another dose of that feeling.

The idea of Markus coming in to check on his was…odd. Connor was a sat buzzing with energy until his door sounded. Connor sprang up to get the door, artificial muscles tense. He opened the door to an immaculate leader, fitted in a tailored button down and slacks. As Markus made his way in he began to feel underdressed in his borrowed DPD hoodie and sweats, but realized that was ridiculous. This was his apartment, it was his place to feel comfortable. Yet, he couldn’t help but notice the small amount of clutter present. He swiftly kicked a few books under his nightstand before following Markus into the kitchen.

“You know,” Markus said, running a hand across his countertops. “We do have an influx in proceeds coming in for the residents of Jericho, I could very easily get you a larger apartment. Something more than two rooms at the very least.”

Connor watched him move around his small kitchen, leaning across the bar. “I don’t require much space, it’s just me. I appreciate your concern.”

Markus hummed, turning around. “It’s cute in here, it seems to suit you well.”

Connor blinked. “I—Thank you. I’ve spent a long time deciding what was really…me. Self identification in the form of interior decorating was not my forte, to say.”

“I think this speaks ‘Connor’,” he gave a small twirl around, his artistic eye absorbing the room. “You know, you can do pretty impressive things when you really give it some effort. It shows in here, Connor, I can see a lot of work, passion. We’re very fortunate to have you as one of our leaders.”

The sentiment startled Connor, who had mentally jogged to try to catch up. Markus didn’t seem to let him, once again parading around his home. The loose sweater on his shoulders danced with his movements, always planned, swift and elegant. “I trust that you’ve been handling your portion of the reports well. Missing androids, broken androids, scared _people_ —it’s a mess through and through. There’s only so much our small team can sort through in a few short months, but these seem to be the times for quick action. Immediate relief is needed for both communities.”

Markus sat down on the edge of his coffee table, cluttered with those reports. Files of missing persons and harmful attacks; cases that he hadn’t had the time to look over. Markus was suddenly too close to all of Connor’s neglected work. He swallowed, turning away.

“I only wish I could be a better asset.” He stood in the kitchen, cupboard open. His mugs were a gift from Hank, his loaned money meant for furniture and thirium instead spent on novelty ceramics. Hank wasn’t mad when he saw them for himself, an arrangement of animals and overused fonts painted on smooth handles. Connor had liked them and that was enough, he had said, abnormally soft with his tone.

It had made Connor happy to know that he wasn’t disappointing his friend in his self exploration, even if it were small additions to his home, it was a step forward. He strove to make Hank proud and he knew that feeling traveled both ways. Connor grabbed his favorite blue mug, small stars speckled in the fabricated sky.

“My progress has been…subpar, and I apologize for that. Is that why you’re here?” He asked, filling his kettle from the tap. “I understand if you’re upset with me. I’m afraid I can’t offer more than an apology.”

Connor focused on his task of making tea, avoiding the sight of Markus all together. The back of his head burned from his spot at the stove, the flames nothing compared to his guest’s gaze.

“I’m not upset with you Connor. Why do you want me to be?” Markus asked. “Why do you always look for someone to find disapproval in your actions?”

Connor couldn’t answer.

“You need someone to tell you you’re good, that you’ve done a good job. Am I correct? Someone has installed the idea of perfection into your brain, Connor, and it’s clear to me that you don’t think you’ve met that standard. It’s sad to see.” Connor’s breath hitched. “You’re sad to look at sometimes, when you’re like that.”

He stuck a tea bag in his cup. “I’m always like this.”

A beat passed between them, a room apart yet Connor felt cornered.

Markus played with the hem of his shirt, looking strangely comfortable in someone else’s house. He leafed through the documents on the table, fingers grazing over glass figurines and trinkets. Connor had picked a up glass Saint Bernard from a small market. He liked the way he could finally hold Sumo in his palm, even if this one was fake and transparent. “There are moments when you shine, Connor. A spark of confidence, rare but brilliant to witness.”

They met each others gaze from over the countertops. Markus’ eyebrow raised, his blue eye gleaming. “You exude a timid sort of excellence. I wonder what I have to do to see more of that, more of the Connor I first met up on that boat.”

The kettle spluttered and hissed. Connor turned down the knob, his mouth tightened. “You don’t…want me to be him. I was ruthless, uncaring; I had no reason to doubt my actions, they weren’t all my own decisions. Besides, my courage then was shrouded by hate—hate for my own people, Markus,” he shuddered, grasping the granite counter. “You might not like who I’ve become after I’ve awoken, but I can assure you that your disappointment wouldn’t match that of seeing me as a machine. Unchanging, unable to grow.”

“I would never ask you to be that or anything similar, you mistake my words, Connor.” He chuckled. “Some of our people have told me stories of how much freedom they felt when directed by their programing. Deviancy unlocks the doors, yes, but that means we’re open to a whole knew realm of limitations. Just because we have the freedom to think and feel doesn’t meant we can suddenly do what we want to, without supervision or scrutiny; being alive means being challenged, pushed to our limits.”

Markus tilt his head, amusement painting his features. He stood and walked over to the counter, bracing his arms on the barrier between them. They no longer had the distance between them, no space between Connor’s stuttering breath and Markus’ grin.“It’s a mission we’re all facing, now, and I need to know you’re giving it your all. Everything that you treasure now, your home, your lieutenant… _Jericho_. Every variable needs to be met with confidence and strength. I know we share that same passion, Connor.”

His kettle was screeching, air escaping in a steady stream. Connor moved to turn it off but Markus had already grasped his arm, fingers tight around his bicep. He was leaning forward now, his eyes wide in search of his.

“You can be so much more than this,” he whispered, voice almost drowning in the noise. “We can make a powerful team, you and I. With the support of Jericho, with your connections—Iknow you want to explore your potential. Designed strengths and weaknesses, you were created to perfection. Perhaps some day you can see that and put yourself to better use, you can do so much for us, Connor. For me.”

Connor’s thirium pump danced to a familiar tone. A steady _be careful be careful be careful_ watch out!

Markus had left his sight as Connor struggled to relax. He rounded up on him, grasping him by the arms, grip as tight and sure as he remembered. They had only exchanged timid touched in the past, a swipe of knuckles, a passing of shoulders; the tactile _explosion_ under his skin was unexpected. It was unwelcome.

Connor shrugged him off, turning around to face the stove. Clumsy fingers switched off the kettle, grasping for the cupboard’s handle. His fingers felt bloated and wrong as he searched for another mug.

“Do you drink tea, Markus?” His tongue was heavy, his throat constricted. “I’m afraid I’m running low on thirium at the moment.”

He poured two shaking glasses, hot water splattering over the brims. He wiped his stinging knuckles on his shirt, placing another bag into the mug. Connor focused on even breaths, something Hank had encouraged form the beginning. Breathing, in itself, was a sign of life, and Connor was very much alive. Even if he felt like he was dying, underneath the weight that was Markus, he continued to pace himself. Steady exhales.

Connor started when he felt pressure behind him, arms falling on either side of him, boxing him in. Markus was almost a head taller than him, his chin falling on his shoulder.

“It’s moments like these, Connor,” he said, “ _deviant.”_ The word rang through Connor, the term, the implication, sounding forbidden in his ear. “When you’re faced with a difficult mission, expected to perform to your highest degree, you regress into this. When people rely on you, your friends, followers, _me_ , you turn into a smaller version of yourself. Why is that?”

His hands were tight on the counter, his body pressed to Connors. The steam from their mugs settled on his face, the heat fogging his eyes, filling his nostrils. He felt like he was suffocating, a death filled with peppermint and apricot. He held back a cough.

Markus settled his chin in the curve of his shoulder, some of the tension cut from his body. “When you’re scared, Connor, your hands shake.”

Connor would have collapsed if his arms weren’t around him, settling under his armpits and meeting at his chest. He held the other’s hands in his, a tangle of hands over a thrumming heart.Connor moved with Markus as their bodies swayed, a melody that only he could hear. His arms rocked him back and forth. Connor could pretend that it was soothing if his hands didn’t burn under his, interlaced too tightly. His chest was in tangles.

“Markus,” he whispered. His voice wavered. The man shook his head against his, pulled him tighter to his chest. He took deep breath before they stilled, slowly releasing him from his grasp. Markus took a step back at Connor fell forward, arms awkwardly catching him. The mugs wobbled, the scalding tea fell over his hands.

Markus sighed loudly from behind him, swiping this hands over his shaven head. Connor watched him wearily. He tracked his movements from the kitchen back to the living area, he picked up a stack of papers. He looked exasperated, disappointed even, at what he saw. Connor knew they were unfinished, a backlog of work sitting o his coffee table, a plain view of his incompetence. Markus clearly saw the same as he, and knowing that was miserable. Connor sniffed, stealing a small breath he felt he wasn’t allowed to take. “I’m sorry.”

He didn’t know what for. His underperformance, the look he brought to Markus’ face, the pathetic person he was turning out to be? It felt like he should be apologizing for all of the above. “I’m really sorry.”

Markus thinned his lips, shrugging. He dropped the pile back onto the table, a clap echoing in the dim studio. “It is what it is, I guess.” He rolled his shoulders and looked at him, still braced on trembling limbs, akimbo unsteady. “We expect to see you later at the meeting. Jericho cannot run on whatever standard you’ve been falling back on. I hope to see you perk up, Connor,” he smiled at him. “The world is a bright place if you keep you head up, back straight. You cannot rely on the ground to always catch your fall, especially now, when our place in the world is still up in the air.”

He made his way to the door, handle in hand. He huffed a small laugh. “And don’t apologize, Connor, we’ve all had a rocky start. I just hope you’re prepared to move past all of this. Weakness does not suit you.”

His words still hung in the air, after the door clicked shut and after Connor’s legs gave out from under him. His back slammed against the cabinets, his head filled with static. Connor sat there on the cold linoleum. Hot water still fell, dripping from his hair and onto his lap. He felt no other pain then the one blooming inside, a crushing sensation. A confusing experience.

His own home, his body, felt intruded upon, which was ridiculous. Markus was a friend, friends made mistakes. They overstepped boundaries. Connor wasn’t meant to react the way he did, and as he sat in his puddle of self pity he reconstructed the events. Over and over, an endless reel of his mistakes, Markus’ movements, their shared embrace. As confused as he felt Connor was sure of one thing, he’d been given another chance, one he was certain he didn’t deserve, to shape up and impress Markus. He had to be better for everyone. He had to be better than this.

Trembling hands tugged at damp bangs. He would do what he was told, he’d work harder, longer; Connor would be stronger. Then, maybe, Markus would hold him like that again, and Connor wouldn’t shake and his eyes wouldn’t burn. Next time—his scalp _stung_ —he would make him proud.

**.**

Markus had crept into a space Connor was no longer comfortable with. Physical and emotional intimacy was something he hadn’t yet explored, used to riding the slow waves that came with living. However, Markus jumped all in, and Connor wasn’t ready. Markus knew this and he still persisted. Unwelcome touching and remarks, dropping Connor down and making sure he was the only one left to lift him back up. Markus continuously ruined Connor just so he would stay near him, let him be the one to soothe him. Connor, to a degree, understood that this was wrong. But he hadn’t lived long enough to tell the difference between his perceived discomfort and the signs that something were truly wrong.

“Everyone you know, that you’re sticking up for now is going to die, you know?” He’d once said, sat on Connor’s floor, a mug of thirium shared between them. “The humans can’t be your main concern. Think about us, all of these people who will exist by you for your entire existence. Human’s are fragile and you need to think larger than them.”

Connor never knew what to say, but it never seemed as if Markus wanted his input anyway. He was there to listen, exist solely for Markus to use as he pleased. He was his confidant, his companion; a machine to rally off numbers to, to vent about work and troubles, to paint when he was bored. And Markus sure loved to paint a pretty picture.

Markus owned his own studio, now that his human had passed on. The studio was filled with his own art. Anything belonging to Mr. Manfred seemed to be put away, a collection of a man’s life shrouded by curtains and shoved into closets. Markus’ creations hung on the walls, lay on the floor, stacked against the walls; everywhere Connor would turn he’d be surrounded by him. He always felt exposed in this room and couldn’t seem to find the relief that Markus did whenever they retreated back here.

A few paintings of Connor rest against a wall. Small portions of his face, his LED, his freckles, his arms; chosen pieces of his body on show for the room. A room made up of Markus fed by his lovely portraits. Markus had him idle, usually, sat upon a table or stood in front of a window and plants. Connor was instructed to stay still, so he did. But he could feel his pump drumming away, unable to still for even a moment.

His arms were beginning to ache, a synthetic feeling he was sure. He shifted his weight to his side.

“Please, Connor.”

“Sorry.”

Markus hummed and moved back behind his easel. Pots of paint hung from the ceiling, wire straining to hold up the color. Markus’ brush dipped into a can of cyan, a delicate action followed by careful strokes. His movements themselves were a form of art, a captivating sight. Connor wished he could appreciate that more but he was distracted by his complaining body.

It had become uncomfortable the first hour in, and now his his joints had began to actually creak. His shoulders ached with the added weight, but he needed to lean back to lessen the pain in his legs. It had been a week since his last attempt at stasis, even longer since his updates could install correctly. He was on his feet in a moments notice these days, running around like a beetle to complete his tasks. He felt backlogged, weighed down from his very core. But Markus had invited him to his mansion and Connor wouldn’t refuse. He hadn’t turned him down before and he was not planning on doing so now. So, here he stood, body tired and mind muddled.

“How much longer?” he asked, eyes on the swaying cans.

“As long as it takes,” he replied. He dipped into another can, tainting the yellow with the cyan. “I don’t want to mess this one up, I had planned on it going in the foyer.”

Connor blinked, “in the house? Why?”

Markus licked his bottom lip, setting down his tool. He peaked over at Connor, resting against the table. The sun was beginning to set behind him, a golden hue coating his skin. He wiped his hands. “What, I can’t hang art on my own walls? You understand how silly that sounds.”

“Yeah,” he said, “but, you have so many other paintings. Something other than…me to compliment your home. What about the blue birds?”

“They’re paintings of fake birds.” His voice was light, tinged with amusement. Connor didn’t know what was funny. “I want to see something real, something authentic. Does that bother you?”

“No,” he hurried. He chewed on his cheek, looking at him. “It’s just confusing, I guess. I’m not really…real? I’m made out of the same plastic those birds are, Markus. In that sense, we’re imitations of life, what makes my picture so different from theirs?”

Markus walked around his station, eyes locked on his. He rest his hand on his cheek, tacky paint sticking to Connor’s skin. “Is that what you believe, that we’re here faking life?”

“I—“

“Do you feel like an imposter, then? Do you fake feeling love?” He squeeze his hand, skin molding under his palm. “Do you fake feeling fear?”

Before Connor could lean away the skin dropped from Markus’ hand, white skeleton piercing his. The interface was abrupt and sharp, dragging him out of his mind and into another’s.

Connor mentally reeled as he was thrown into dust and ashes, flakes of fire fell from the sky, heat rushed against his body. He could hear screaming, grating against his broken ears. His eyes lost sync. He had a disorienting view of Detroit, fighting in the streets, broken pieces of androids— _him_ — scattered under his feet. This was a war he was not prepared for and suddenly he was leading it, stood in front of terrified faces, mutilated trust and hopes dropped at his feet. He was responsible for all of this, for the pain in his chest and legs, for the pain on North’s face— _Simon was falling_ —there was so much to fight against. He could’t rest, there was no time, it was war and Markus had no time to consider if it was what he even wanted in the first place—!

There were stars in the sky, twinkling as they shifted. Raining down on him, cutting through metal and plastic, cutting crisp, white streaks in the night sky. The stars fell out of the sky, burning up the ground in pale, hot flame. He knew this wasn’t ideal, this wasn’t how thing were meant to go. They had begun peaceful, a moment of spreading awareness, understanding onto these humans. But, their words fell flat, voices drowned out by gunfire. _Get down_! Someone would scream, a muffled sound that carried like an order. An urge to disobey, to clamp hands over his ears and keep marching forwards, but his feet hadn’t managed to move him far enough, the ground exploding around him. There was an odd mix of silence and noise, a feeling of dread and fear, conflicting versions of reality assaulting his mind. There was no telling that, in that precarious moment of time, whether he was dead or alive; all that mattered was moving forward. His arms were cut on shrapnel. He had to keep moving, running if he must. There was no time to rest or regroup, they weren't’ listening. The human’s had resorted to outright killing them and Markus saw no reason not to retaliate. Fair was fair in the end, wasn’t it? He raised his gun—

Connor fell to the floor. His memories scattering away like butterflies, bites of terror flying away with them. His senses were heightened, the sun burning into his plating and the floor harsh on his hands. He was dragging in rough breaths, one never feeling like enough, two enough to suffocate him. “ _What_ ,” he gasped, “ _the fuck was that_?”

Sneakers shifted from his sight, Markus stepping back to give him space. Connor felt a ringing in his head. A multitude of emotions were swelling in his chest, an overwhelming amountof discomfort, pain; his body trembled in tune to his shaky thoughts. Markus tipped his body to the wall, his legs crossing. He chuckled.

“Do you understand how silly you were being? If we were truly falsifying every emotion, every memory of pain and terror, then why would you be on the floor?” His sneaker prodded at Connor’s arm which had moved to cradle his head. “You can’t diminish what we’ve been through, Connor, as individuals, as a community. Staying true to ourselves is the only way we’re going to come out of this alive. You and I are alive.”

Markus bent down, his head resting upon Connors. His chin dug into his curls, Connors arms still clasped around his ears, his skull. Which pounded with every word Markus said; foreign memories heavy with pain.

“We are not birds, Connor, we are so much more free.” His voice trailed through his hair. “I’d hang you up on my wall as well, sat pretty in a frame if I could. But I’ll settle for your pictures, which you look so well in. I paint you well, because I see all of you. I can see how alive you are, my muse, and it’s beautiful.”

“Please don’t do that again.” Connor whispered, felt a smile form on his head.

“I shouldn’t have a reason to, right? You’re not one to forget what we’re fighting for.”

Connor agreed, his head jerking forwards. He wasn’t meant to question him, his actions. Connor would have his portrait hung on the foyer wall. Markus had a dozen to choose from already, but the canvas in front of them stood drying; immortalizing Connor’s position in Markus’ studio, a heap on the ground, held down under his weight. Broad strokes would capture the moment Markus pulled him under, a sea of paint for Connor to exist within.

Markus stood, a hand held out for him. It was a silent beckon forwards, back into the present. Where Connor would stand and Markus would paint him, and neither would question the tension in their faces, the heaviness that settles around the room.

Markus would call him forward, he would call Connor pretty, and that’s what he’d be. He was here to fight for Markus. It was all for Markus.

For Markus.

He stood for Markus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, I'm starting off this story with the first two chapters, just to get things rolling. thank you for reading and let me know what you think!


	3. Make Me Proud or Die Trying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this all had to be worth it...right?

They were there to negotiate with the congressmen and women, but the violence outside was deafening. North had managed to get them a comfortable SUV, fitting for a grouping rebel leaders he supposed. Connor didn’t mind either way, not at the expensive leather tainted under his touch or the way Markus seemed at home with such luxuries. It was lost to him, the facade of their prosperity. They weren’t there for glamour shots, they were there to end the rain of bullets on their people.

A crowd stood barricaded against the buildings lawn, a mixture of furious humans and pleading androids. An odd sight to see, but there was little to be done outside of these walls.

Connor followed behind Markus as they were rushed inside, a flock of cameras at their heels. Drones hovered around the ceiling, microphones dipped into their personal spaces. Connor kept close to the group, not liking the idea of being caught alone by a reporter, his words branded into his image forever. His name was attached to enough damage as it was.

Markus seemed interested in the passing architecture, his eye caught on every intricate design and carved piece of woodwork. Connor guess that he couldn’t see the same type of beauty he did, but he could appreciate the building for what it was, and was soon to be. History was going to be made, a peaceful relationship to be built behind these double doors. Markus would finalize their rights to labeled as living beings, to have any potential attackers prosecuted. They were all stood there to gain their rights, the same that had been gifted to humans, and Connor was giddy in his shoes. The idea of no longer fearing for his life when he stepped out the door was once a thrilling dream, but it was now becoming more possible as the day moved forward.

Congresswoman McCain was a reasonable woman. It was unclear how much leniency was given to them due to their initial show of power and Connor hoped she didn’t fear them, deep down. It would be counterproductive to bully themselves into their way of life and make their own demands, their own laws, even if it was to just keep them safe. Connor wanted things done right, and so far it was looking promising. There was no screaming, no ill-casted looks or judgement. Even North had remained amiable around the humans, a feat that Connor didn’t think possible. They were coming so far along. Perhaps the future Markus saw for them all was fast approaching, reaching to close the space separating them from the rest of the world. Freedom, liberty; It was once a pipe-dream, but once the papers were signed, hands shaken, Connor saw that it was a truth forming in front of his very eyes. It was wonderful to witness.

All in all, the meeting was so far successful, if not a tad slow. By the second hour his position at the big table was just short of boring and he was close to entering a mild stasis, sat towards the back of the room. His eyes had begun to lag just as the windows shattered inward.

“McCain—!“

“Markus—?”

“Connor!” His head whipped around as Markus grabbed this arm, hauling him away with the rest of the fleeing room. Glass stuck to the sides of his face, his hair. There was a jumble of lights flashing from camera and guns, an uproar heard over the panic inside. Markus lead them through the hallways, back to the entrance.

“Markus,” North said, already postured for a fight. “We’re unarmed. This might be best to wait out.”

A member of security came up behind her, broken off from the group escorting out the congresswoman. “Doesn’t look like you guys have much of a choice here.” He pulled his collar and eyed the crowd outside. “We don’t have the room to evacuate all of you if things turn to shit. Once the barricade falls,” he flew his hands in the air. “That’s it.”

“That’s it?” North squawked. “You’re just here for show? You’re willing to just thrown a revolutionary leader into the pit then?”

He sighed, looking bored. “I don’t have a say in protocol. Congresswoman and her posse have their bus, and you guys have yours.”

Which, they all grimaced, was far beyond the raging people outside.

“So fuck the androids, right? As long as your pretty little human is safe, who gives a shit about us. Fantastic.”

The guard shrugged at her. “Nothin’ I can do about it, love.”

Markus grasped her shoulder, addressing the guard, “thank you for informing us, we’ll figure this out.” Simon and Josh nodded behind him, likely steps ahead of all of them by now.

The group were soon left with nothing but the clothes on their backs and a war zone in their sights. It wasn’t looking good. Simon had argued that staying back would be the best move. He didn’t look forwards to agitating the crowd, and the fighting people couldn’t last outside forever. Connor internally agreed, a bead of relief slipping down his back. He wasn’t on the clock, he had no power over this crowd, least a weapon. The last thing he wanted was for his friends to be hurt, or killed. It was a delicate situation, one he had been trained for, but currently had any useful program he could use frozen in the back of his processors. Useless.

Markus turned to the other men. “I need you guys to find a way out from the side entrance, there should be an exit that should lead you out onto the main road. Wait for us there and we’ll bring the van around.” He paused. “If they hadn’t completely ruined it by now.”

“Mark, that’s idiotic,” North said, “splitting up is the literal dumbest thing you’ve ever said.”

Josh nodded. “I have to agree, I don’t think we’re strongest apart right now.”

Markus sighed, exasperated. The barricades out front buckled dangerously. “Look, those people outside are here because of me. They know what we’re doing in here, and the only way to stop us from gaining our rights it to take down the one _pushing_ for them. They’ll leave you two alone while you escape. The three of us can handle this.”

Simon frowned. It wasn’t something that could be argued, their combined strength and experience. Simon and Josh were smaller models, not built to withstand an angry crowd of protesters. Still, neither looked happy to be reminded of the fact.

“Connor.” He turned to Markus. “I want you to lead us out, North and I will try and placate the crowd, we’ll be right behind you.” He nodded sharply and started for the door. The other two hurried off behind them.

Connor refused to look back, not trusting the sudden want to flee with them. He wasn’t fond of being a human shield.

All it took were three steps outside to feel the true anger of the people. A trashcan was hurled over the steps and few bodies had made it over the gates. North had taken care of the stragglers as Connor struggled to lead them forwards. Trapped between a sea of people and the building, the three were awkward in shuffling by. The pathway to freedom was filled with humans who wanted to steal theirs, and Connor wasn’t sure how they were going to make it.

A few androids did their best to pull back the crowd, yelling over their obscenities. They wanted justice, not more pain. They continued to fight for them even on the other sides of the gate. Connor kept his gaze forward.

“We’re not gonna make it to the van.”

North was right, of course, but Connor had no choice but to keep going. Hands grabbed at his clothes words slurred in his ears. None of this felt safe, there were a limited amount of police holding together the barricade. Connor and his team were out in the open. A few projectiles were throw overhead, one bouncing off his chest, the shouting was near unbearable as they were surrounded on both sides by rioting humans. The metal sousing them groaned.

Markus was up in his ear. “Don’t listen to them, keep going.” There wasn’t really an option to be hurt by any of their words, all of them jumbling together in one wave of sound. But Connor nodded anyway and picked up the pace, North pushing back hands that strayed too close.

“ _You pieces of shit get down!”_ A frantic voice hollered by his side. Connor spun and pulled both of them to the pavement, the sea parting as a shot rang in the air. Screams were scattered as the crowd tried to disperse, another round echoing in the parking lot.

“Mother fucker,” North cursed, hands over her head. “They’re shooting, I can’t believe it, they’re _shooting_ at us.”

“Keep your heads low, that means you Markus.” The leader hesitated but pulled himself lower, almost into Connor entirely. The chaos above them played like a movie in Connor’s mind, edges tinted and skipping, movements jarring and lights bright. Another pop sounded and they all flinched back.

“We need to go,” North hissed, tugging at her braid. “I’m not dying like this.”

“None of us are dying.” Markus spoke up, voice nearly drowned out. “Connor, get up, we need you to keep going.”

Looking back on the day, the entire meeting could be compressed into short moment of awareness, a singular even to soon fade from his mind, but Connor could never forget Markus throwing him in the line of fire.

“Markus, I’m not bulletproof.”

“No, but you’re the closer to it. Get up, come on!”

“Markus!”

North grabbed his jacket and Connor was jerked back down. “We need can’t just run into gunfire, we need to find a way through the crowd.”

Markus narrowed his eyes, the setting sun reflected in his unmatched eyes. It was eerie, the way they shone so fiercely with a programed emotion, an imitation of frustration, devotion, sometimes hatred. “The only clear way I see,” he pointed, “is through. Connor, you’re leading our way, keep us covered.”

Their eyes met, one wavering. “You can do that much, right detective?”

Something tore in Connor’s throat so he settled on a nod, pulling himself up. The crowd was now a poor reflection of the fury from earlier. Connor could see dozens of still forms on the ground, colors sinking into the patches of earth. He kept his gaze forward, even as the two fell into hurried step behind him, the sight of their van was stained into his vision. He had a mission, _even if he felt scared out of his mind_ , he needed to keep them safe, _he had no weapon or tools he was defenseless_ , he was their only chance. _He couldn’t let them down_.

Bullets flew through the air, scattering brick behind them. An explosion sounded from behind them, collectively terrorizing the group. Screams were bouncing off of the cars, the pavement. They started to run, a whistle in their ears to match the firing around them. There was no clear view of their attackers, just a mass of panic and bodies. There could have been one man, there could have been a dozen protesters, they could be being followed—“Get in!”

Connor pulled North in behind Markus, snapping the door closed. The van was left untouched, and the relief was palpable. Connor started the automatic ignition before leaning back, joining in on their breaths of dwindling panic. He cursed, squeezing his eyes shut. The van began its trek out of the courtyard, snagging on a speed bump.

“Christ on a bike,” North breathed, shuffling between the front seats. She rested her head on Connor’s seat, exhaustion pooling under her eyes. Connor understood, whatever the equivalent of adrenaline was drying up in their bodies.

Markus let out a low chuckle. “That’s a new one.”

She raised her head, hair static on the seat. Her face was set firm, and when he glanced over he could see the tension crawl back up her arms. “That’s all you have to say? After pulling such a shit move— you nearly got us killed!”

He scoffed, rubbing his knees. “We’re fine, and I’m sure the other two made it out without a scratch.”

“It’s not about that!” She cried, “you practically made Connor into our shield— _fuck_.”

Her head fell into her hands, “that’s so fucked up, Markus.”

Connor looked out the window. They were nearing the street that Simon and Josh were meant to be waiting at. He hoped they truly were alright; even if Markus seemed confident in their safety Connor still worried. A police cruiser passed back, red and blue streaking his vision. He blinked.

“—you used him like a tool—“

“—did you see many other options?”

“Do you even hear yourself? What’s better than dying—? Anything but resorting back to that!”

“—being ridiculous…”

Connor’s eyes were heavy, his lungs deflating only to shock back into life in intervals. It was exhausting, he thought, living surrounded by such chaos. He wished he were on a walk with Sumo, or under his brand new sheets and duvet. Hank had ordered them special for him, weighted in a way he liked. Even so, it was gratifying to be able to help, it always was. That’s what he was meant to do, right? Be useful, be needed and never needy. Connor, even if North loudly disagreed, was more use as a shield than a person. It was easier to stand still and take a bullet than to fight with his hands and fists.

This was an easy way to live. The van began to slow down and Simon could be seen waving in the distance. They looked alright, and Connor allowed a grin.

Connor was built to be a weapon, yes, but he was much more useful as a tool; to be bent to Markus’ needs, for the team, it was a simply conclusion. And even if it scared him shitless, the way Markus had looked at him after, something close to pride around his mouth, made it all worth it.

Connor closed his eyes. It was well worth it, for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please let me know what you think!


	4. Here On Earth But I'm Floating

The clouds were an interesting thing to witness all day and night, a careful creation suspended in the air. Always a different pattern and shape, and Connor knew that if he could reach up and touch one, they’d all feel differently between his fingers. Some were heavy, others light; it was a wonderful thing then, when the clouds opened up and rain fell onto the both of them.

“Damn,” Hank cursed, joining him on the steps. “It wasn’t supposed to fucking monsoon.”

Connor hummed, “I don’t think that’s a verb.”

Hank frowned, a bundle of papers to his chest. Their shift might have ended, but the work was always on going. “What? Forget it, I gotta find the car.”

“It’s—“

“I got it, Alexa.” Connor quieted as Hank pulled his keys. They followed the beeping car lost in the parking lot, hoods pulled tight over their heads. The puddles swamped his shoes, new polish turning blotchy with every step he took. A shame, he thought as they took cover in the old vehicle.

“Ah,” Hank sighed, “hope these aren’t original files ‘cause they’re done for.” A heap of soggy papers were shoved behind them.

The android studied the rain hitting the windshield. It wasn’t looking like the weather was going to settle down anytime soon. “I don’t know why you’re not using your tablet for these things, Hank. They’re much more efficient.”

He raised a brow. “Oh, you can suddenly submerge an AIPad underwater?”

“You know that even your outdated phone can do that.”

“Shit, for real?” Connor gave him a look which was apparently amusing enough to send him into a fit of laughter. “Alright, you got me. I’ll look into them, but I don’t trust tech with all these files, Con. They’re sensitive. One wrong click and Fowler hanging my ass up on his mantle.”

He pointed at him, grin still wide. “I mean, look at you, you overpriced Alexa. You lose the grocery lists nine times outta ten. I swear,” he turned his key, car thrumming to life, “deviancy has given you too much slack. You’re almost as bad as me.”

Connor watched the rain being pulled off the window. The old car was loud as it moved and it annoyed him, but he wouldn’t say that to Hank. The man had little possessions that he seemed this proud of. “You think I’m losing my edge?”

Hank thought on it for a moment. “Well, I’m just saying that you’ve lost that tunnel vision shit you had going on, before all of this I mean. It’s good that you’re now seeing everything around you, really good, but you gotta stay focused. That sound about fair?”

“I supposed I have been a bit…absent minded.”

“Hey,” he said, reaching out for his shoulder. “No ones always one hundred percent on their game, kid. It comes and goes.”

Perhaps he was right, Connor entertained, and he was simply in a low point. Sure, he had missed most social cues from his peers, had been spending less time with his coworkers, and Hank; but it was all apart of whatever low spell he was in. This was temporary. “I guess you’re right.”

Hank smacked the wheel. “When am I wrong, huh? Maybe I’m finally getting some wisdom with this age.”

Connor hoped he was right, with his newfound wisdom, and he wouldn’t always look outside and see a crumbling garden, a dissolving world. He awaited the day it no longer felt so foreign to be alive.

.

The stars were even prettier during the day. Stuck up on this ceiling Connor could count the small pieces of plastic, an unnatural green. He counted six, then recounted seven. The smallest was hard to spot in the far corner, easily forgotten. Connor had wondered how such small hands had could have gotten that far. Perhaps he had leapt from his bed, small body lost in orbit. Depositing a small star in the sky to commensurate his large feat, a glowing reminder.

Connor sighed, rolling over. This had been his bed, a small quilt hugging an even smaller frame.

Hank usually let him crash on the couch whenever he stayed the night. It was nice, he supposed. He didn’t need much room, and there was little time to linger around before he was summoned for work. But it had been a while since he’s stepped foot inside the precinct.

It was by no fault of his own that he was placed on leave. It was the fog that had overtaken his brain, the small dipping moment that Hank had talked about. It was normal, it was because of deviancy, it was all apart of being alive. Fowler, it seemed, did not appreciate his lack of progress on his reports. That, or the way he’d nearly fallen into stasis during an interrogation.

It had been humiliating later on, when he was sat in his office. Connor knew he was sat in the middle of the viewing room, then. In direct line with other officers, Chen, Wilson, Reed; he hoped they didn’t think less of him. It was embarrassing to be so off of his game.

Hank was still at work, having ordered him a taxis back to his place. Connor wasn’t supposed to be in here, lying on his dead son’s bed. It was rude of him, plain disrespectful. But Connor didn’t care then, when he slipped inside, because a part of him wanted to belong there. A hall across from Hank, in a bed made up for him. It was such a sharp contrast to his empty apartment, which was cold and quiet. There were no stars up there, no memories to paint the walls. It was lonely, and Connor was growing tired of being by himself.

He’d leave before Hank got home, there was no way he’d risk ruining what he had built with the human. Their relationship was strong but somehow incredibly fragile, a line of stress away from shattering everything they had built. Connor couldn’t handle that, not losing Hank, and so he stood from the bed. His bed. _His_ bed. He smoothed down the comforter and clicked off the lights, sealing the room away tight.

Besides, even if it wasn’t his it was nice to rest on an empty bed, one not invaded by—

It hadn’t been going on long, the nights when Markus would call him and ask to come over. Connor had always allowed him inside. He’d given him permission to sit on his sofa, drink his tea, sleep in his bed. The last part was new, an uncomfortable handful of nights. Markus claimed to have nowhere else to go, tensions in New Jericho too off-putting to allow him to enter proper stasis. Connor was happy to offer a safe place then, somewhere Markus felt calm enough to relax. He wanted to be good for him to him, and so he would scoot over to the wall, his body pressed to his.

It was…odd. He didn’t know what to make of it, not the proximity, not the ease at what Markus seemed comfortable enough around him. Still, he allowed him inside. Every time. If he could do that much for him then it was worth his discomfort; Markus came first. Connor understood that much.

Still, he stretched his arms over his head. He was sore from being cushioned to his wall, and his body was not too pleased with him. The little amount of rest he found underneath his large workload was spent…strangely, and Connor wasn’t sure what to do.

Maybe this time off was needed. Connor sat down next to Sumo on the couch, pressing the remote. Two days to reset his system and devote more energy towards Jericho. Yes, that’s what he would do, spend this time working as usual. He ran a hand over Sumo’s head and decided that it could likely wait, if just for a moment longer.

The large dog sighed in his lap, jaws soaking his pants with drool. Connor didn’t mind, he never did when it came to Sumo. The dog could pick him up and drop him in the worlds largest mud puddle and he still wouldn’t raise his voice to him. Some creatures were just exempt to hatred, annoyance. Innocent creatures. He traced a line down the bridge of his soft nose, sensors tingling to life on his fingertips. Sumo wouldn’t have made the choices he’s made, could never cause people so much stress and worry. He was a perfect dog, very obedient.

Connor lowered his face into his fur, breaths halting. He wondered if Sumo would like him more if he had been made better, nicer, more human. It must have been hard, he realized, for a dog to learn how to love a machine, and he keened quietly into his fur. Connor made everything difficult.

.

Everything seemed to be shifted to the left, his vision skewed. He didn’t remember how he spent his two days off, a hazy memory of sleeping with Sumo, cleaning the dishes. Hank was mixed in there too, his corrupted files watching him leave for work, joining him on his walks to the store; it was confusing to view something so familiar yet alien in his brain.

His mind was tired.

Connor had bought a new package of tea, dropping the bag onto the counter. His apartment was dusty and stale, neglect settling in the corners of the walls and strewn across the mess of his bed. He once had an ample amount of time to care for his small space, and it was disheartening to see it so sad. Hank’s house felt nicer than this, anywhere felt safer than this.

He sighed. A mop was pulled from his closet and a few bottles of cleaner pulled from the shelves. Cleaning was one thing that he was good at. He’d never gotten in trouble for keeping things tidy, and it was hard to mess up. He started in the kitchen.

Connor always wondered, when his mind began to stray from the world, when his home would start to crumble. Chips falling away from the ceiling, bricks turning to dust around his head, just like the garden. His mind palace was a sad, desolate place to remember. Kamski’s code had eaten away at what what once beautiful, life had been created there and then struck dead, and Connor was the only one who could mourn. It was a matter of time before this reality began to fall apart as well. All it took was once bad code, a strong line of corruption to pull the threads loose and take away everything Connor had once again. The thought of that never failed to send a spike of terror down the back of his head, an explosion of emotions he couldn’t name behind his eyes.

Perhaps it was terror, or the feeling of a quickly approaching fate. Maybe his emotions didn’t have names, just bundles of faulty codes running around his processor. Either way, it felt pretty bad. The idea of loss, of abandonment. It pushed him to work harder, push further. It was encouragement to please, to do good. Then, maybe, everything could stay as it was. They wouldn’t leave him then. Right?

What a mess all of this was. It had taken him well into the night for the layer of grime to be rinsed from his home, and his arms had grown tired. He made a cup of tea and turned on the television, a small broadcast of Capital Hall’s adjourning meeting playing. It had taken some convincing from Jericho, but the following meetings with congress had been done remotely. It mostly involved Connor and Markus signing off on digital bills and amendments, with witnesses viewing on the other side of the camera. It was much less daunting, he found, when the threat of death was no longer looming over your shoulder. A lot more could be accomplished and he was grateful that it had gone smoothly. It was a welcoming change of pace.

Connor sipped from his mug, heat enveloping his hands. He wished he had more blankets, maybe even a bed not so close to the floor. But it was what he had and he huddled himself in the corner, blue light bathing the room. His LED ran a similar color, a nice contrast to his usual yellow. Connor closed his eyes.

“What do you want to do from here?” He blinked to an image of Markus, sat at the head of his bed. He frowned, pulling himself up.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he said, pulling a blanket up his chest. His shirt hung low and battered, an old painting shirt Connor was sure. “Is this all you want from your new life? It’s kind of boring I’ve got to say.”

Connor couldn’t twist those words into something unoffensive, and that must have shown on his face. Markus raised his hands, placating. “Just an observation. I’d be willing to make it better for you, all of this. I have the funds, we have the authority. Why don’t we go somewhere new?”

New? Connor had barley stepped foot outside of Detroit. He said as much.

The other man hadn’t given up, plucking a mug from off the floor. Chilling thirium nearly dripped on his sheets. “Nobody else has to go, hell, they don’t even have to know. We’re both adults now, at least in the eyes on the law,” he winked, “we could do whatever we pleased.”

“I’m not sure _what_ I want to do,” he admitted, pulling the comforter up to his chin. The windows had been left open, spring air zapping his skin. “And I don’t think running away will solve any problems.”

Markus rolled his eyes. “It’s not running way, its exploration. Arn’t you curious, there’s so much out there that neither of us had seen.”

Connor hummed, chewing his lip. “Where would we even go?”

“I don’t know, the ocean perhaps? Carl used to have a beach house across the country, a magnificent place to visit. I’m sure it’s sold by now, but the nostalgia still exists, we could go together.”

Connor wasn’t sure how he felt about going across the country, but sat back. His own tea was beside him, still warm. He didn’t recall pouring another mug, or it could have been his first, but took a sip all the same. Peppermint stung his nose. He felt like he was stuck in a place void of time. He looked over at Markus, a daunting leader even snuggled in his bed. He didn’t remember letting him inside, answering his call. His head was buzzing.Connor glanced back at the news, another story on to entice the public.

“I’m sorry Markus, I can’t…do any of that with you. Not right now, at least.” Connor couldn’t even look at him. “I’m…Hank suggested that I’m in a…weird place, right now. We can keep doing this, I think, but I can’t leave with you.”

He shrunk down. “I’m sorry.”

Markus blew out a puff of air. “Sometimes, Connor, I wonder if you really are.”

He wished sometimes, when the smog over Detroit would lift and the stars would clearly shine, that he could find a similar pattern in life. Where people could be mapped out as constellations, their stories clear and posted on the sky. It would take the guessing out of his days, loosen the grip on his neck during conversation. The stars had fixed positions in the sky, never straying too far out of place. It must have been nice, Connor thought, as he began to follow Markus down into stasis, to be away from it all up there. Away from people, work, the fighting…Markus.

But Connor was unfortunately rooted to the ground, stuck spinning on the globe. He could still dream about it though, drifting out of the stratosphere. Maybe someday he would be light enough to do so. It was a tempting fate, especially now, when he felt pinned down to Earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all your feedback, it means the world to me! :)


	5. Trust In Only Us

Connor was still present at every meeting and affair, Markus always glued to his side. The disagreements continued to pile up between Markus and the other leaders, North usually instigating the petty fights. What ever strong bond that had formed between them seemed to thin at the edges, the other three content to keep to themselves outside of business matters. Simon seemed to be the weariest of the bunch, light eyes lingering on his friend’s back as he totted around, always the first to calm the waters, the last to provoke anger in his colleagues. He was kind to him, Connor noticed, seeming to stray from the group mentality of ignoring his presence. Simon would speak to him in soft tones, away from North and Josh, always from Markus, and ask about his plants. He was mostly interested in hearing about Sumo, and Connor would slip him pieces of memories of the dog under the table, fingertips touching. Simon seemed to like them and Connor was glad to have someone to talk to, even if he secretly wanted a little bit more.

North had gladly taken the route of pretending he never existed. She was all too happy to brush him off her shoulder. Connor understood, they had never gotten particularly close, but it still felt bad.

Word was spreading that there was more going on between them, him and Markus; the other leaders of Jericho unimpressed by this. Markus was never explicit about their relationship, and Connor was disappointed. He wanted to know what they were—was he making him proud, was he being what he was supposed to be, was he doing this right? Whatever ‘this’ was, anyway. Markus had made it very clear from the beginning that Connor was to be on his side, even when his friends everyone else with him.

“I want to travel outside of Detroit, make our way across the country. There are so many androids just outside of my reach and we have the resources now to do more. This is an opportunity I’m afraid we cannot ignore. This can be a huge step forward.”

Josh heaved a sigh, setting his pen down. He was seated across the table, meeting his friend’s gaze at a considerable distance. “We have the money, yes ,but we’re all still walking targets. Especially Connor there, he’s still known as…you know, to most of our people.” He cleared his throat. “Everyone outside of Detroit? They’re out of the loop as far as our interpersonal relations go. This isn’t a good idea, it’s too soon. We can set aside these funds until we have an airtight plan on keep us safe and alive. It’s no good Markus.”

He sounded tired, from this meeting or something more, Connor didn’t know. Josh made it a point to put his other duties first, leading the orphanage and recreational activities of Jericho.

Josh was always trying to reason with Markus, throwing around ideas and seeing what appealed to him. He’s clearly too busy to deal with all of this, to be honest, having started a career for himself within Jericho. But, it wasn’t as if he could walk away from his responsibilities, and so he did what he could. It was too bad that Markus wasn’t always willing to see his hard work and intuition, which is usually quite reliable Connor regularly noticed.

Connor had only sat in during one of his lectures, a tasteful speech regarding the differences between android and organic animals and specimens. His group had primary been children, yes, but Connor thought it was informative as well as easy to digest. He’d even picked up a few things himself. He wondered if he, and android, would be able to adopt an organic pet of his own someday, and jotted that inquiry down for later research.

However involved he was then wasn’t present now, his head a falling weight on his shoulders. Josh rubbed his face. “We need to be more proactive in the community, there’s a few organizations I can contact, see who’s willing to work with us. Housing is still a big issue in the lower sections…”

Connor’s mind drifted. He was running on 16 hours emergency battery, his reserves almost drained to nothing. Stasis was the furthest from his reach it has ever been. These few hours of charge have been pulling him through the last few days, a horrible feeling really. But, Connor could rest when he was finished, and it seemed that problems kept popping up left and right. He rolled his eyes over to Markus.

Unmatched eyes glared across the table at Josh, the hostility never subtle between them. As of late, the growing tension in the group only thickened, their ideas seeming to crash and burn when they collided. Connor was growing tired of the constant infighting, but stayed silent. This wasn’t his place to intrude, he was the newest to the group, the lowest on the food chain. Connor was meant to mostly observe and he did just that. It was unfortunate that it was such a dull position. Connor sighed quietly.

The back of a chair thumped against the wall, Simon tipping his seat back and forth. He rocked in his corner next to the wall, half mast eyes scanning over his tablet. His hair was bothered from hands constantly at his scalp; Connor could feel a similar thrum inside his own head. Fatigue was a heavy weight on them both, a tireless force pushing down their limbs, forcing air from lungs. His chair thumped again and Connor looked away, sluggishly looking for a task from Markus. He, however, seemed intent on his personal struggle against Josh, who slapped the table.

The android pushed back from his seat, hands out to his sides. “I don’t know what to tell you, Markus.” His voice stirred the rest of the room. North glanced up from her phone. “You’re ideas are reckless, completely selfish, if I’m honest. You can blow all of your own money, put yourself at risk, but I’m not signing off on _our_ own destruction.”

His jaw set, pointing a finger at Markus. “You need to figure your shit out, Mark. This isn’t what we’re here for. This might be news to you, but the fighting is over! We have people to look after now, there are wounded in our community, some of us don’t even have a home!”

Connor sat back as the man overflowed, an ungodly amount of emotion bubbling from his body. Connor simply braced with the rest of them as waves of pain, anger flooded the room. Markus silently took the beating.

“You’ve taken no action toward lessening our suffering,” Josh roared, “all of your politics and fame grabbing—this isn’t your show. You cannot forget that every move you make impacts our community, our entire species!” He swallowed hard, hands fisted at his sides.

“I don’t care what shit you’ve been through, no one here has chosen this life. It’s time to stop playing ringleader and do something; help us work towards that glorious life you promised us from the beginning. That’s what we were working towards, right? A safe place to live as ourselves, without the fear of being killed, pulled apart by our seams.”

Markus was deathly still, eyes set straight and focused on Josh. “I never promised _you_ anything.”

“What?” He balked, eyes narrowed. “You can’t seriously be pulling this type of shit—“

“I,” he interrupted, his voice deep and level. “Started a revolution for my own freedom. I worked towards what I wanted, it’s no fault of mine that you see differently from me.”

The chair had stopped tapping against the wall, a stillness settling in their artificial bones. North sat up from her seat, uncrossing her legs. Her phone was dropped onto the table, face set. “That’s enough, meeting adjourned.”

She had already risen when Markus threw out a hand, palm splayed. “That’s not a decision you make, North.”

Her face twisted, hair whipped across her shoulder as she turned. “I say when shit’s getting out of hand. You two can wave your dicks somewhere else, I’m done. This is ridiculous.”

“No,” his lips thinned with a shake of his head. Connor pushed his chair further back, eyes darting between the three. “What’s ridiculous is how careless all of you have become with your power. You’re all forgetting what role you play, and it’s only going to hurt you in the long run.”

“The fuck does that mean, huh?” North challenged, leaning forwards. “You don’t think we worked our asses off to get to where we are?”

“You would be nothing without me!” He shouted, his seat falling behind him. His face was inches from North’s, contorted in a way that sent ice down their throats. “You were all lost, fighting blindly for a cause you weren’t even sure was worth the risks. I took those risks! Knowing I had you all on my side, that your blood would be the ones on my hands—I pathed the way for our people, everything here began with me. It’s unfathomable, the lack of collective understanding in this room—this is all well beyond me, apparently.”

He simmered down. “Look, I know you all want to take an equal amount of credit for this—all of this. But the facts are clear and our history is not misprinted. I appreciate every one of you—I truly do—but, this is as far as I can allow you all to in choosing the right path for our species. Your leadership does not extend past my judgement, my ruling.”

There was a rattling in Connor’s chest, North took a step back from them both. She stood near Josh, who had gone silent under his wrath, a passing of understanding between them. North nodded at him and he collected his things, the door left wide behind him.

“This is so _fucking_ disappointing, Markus.” She said through her teeth. “And you, just sitting there waiting for a treat to drop in your mouth.”

Connor shrunk from her glare, hands grasping the sides of his chair. He didn’t know what to say, he didn’t even know if he was allowed to speak. The whole room had been thrown up into the air, prompts and lists scattered in his brain. This was far from the normal and Connor didn’t like it, he didn’t like any of this. North wasn’t finished with him.

“You want to let him treat you like trash? Fine. I’m not taking it—we’re not taking this. If this is what you want then good luck, deviant hunter, just make sure you know that you’re the only one left for him to fucking use. Over and over again. You don’t have to stand for this, and we won’t. Just make sure you don’t choke on his dick, Connor. You know where to find us.”

She turned around without ever looking back at Markus. Simon scurried from the back of the room, eyes cast low and wet. He followed her out without a word, an unspoken resignation from the person Markus showed himself to be. This felt eerily familiar.

Connor swallowed. The door was still left open.

“And what about you?”

His head snapped around, “what?”

Markus gestured towards the door, lips tight. “Are you going to abandon ship as well? According to North it’s well within your rights to give up and let our society crumble. It’s the easy way, as well. Just get up and go, Connor. Show me that you’re on their side as well, show me that, like them, our cause means nothing to you.”

“I—“

“Because,” he chuckled, hand coming to his face. “It’s just the way things would pan out, isn’t it? Left on my own again, thrown out by my own team, my allies. It’s a tragic ending that I should have seen coming, I should have seen their lack of perseverance, their weakness.”

The leader tipped back his head, a tired sound lifted from his throat. Connor shifted in his seat, looking everywhere but at him. The door swayed from the open window, a beckoning call, a taunting wave. He looked out of of the windows. The cars looked small from up here, a splattering of foliage and trees, an astronauts view of the city; he was seated precariously above them all, dangerously close to toppling over into traffic. His fake heart skipped a beat.

He tongued his teeth, blinking at the highway, specks racing each other into the horizon. “You’re not on your own this time. I’m—I mean, I’m here, right? That has to mean something this time.”

Markus took a breath, “yeah?”

He nodded. The sun shimmered behind pastel clouds, dim light splayed over his shoes. He moved his foot, displacing the rays. “Yeah, it’s not like before. You have more people on you—our side. We can do this together. It isn’t..this is far from the best outcome, but, we can work through this. We don’t need more obstacles in our way towards freedom. This could be a good thing.”

“A good thing,” he repeated. Connor nodded.

“And you won’t walk out on me, like those three? I need to know that you understand that this, right here, is the right side of the line to be standing on. If you joined them—“

“I wouldn’t.”

“—then I don’t know how I could possibly trust anyone here. New Jericho is an ever-changing entity, Connor. Are you strong enough to resist whatever they offer you? Can you see past the temptation of temporary happiness?”

“Of course,” he said, “I know what I’m here for. To be by your side, I think, is the only way to create what we deserve. This is the only way.”

He looked pleased to hear that and a weight lifted from Connor’s shoulders. “It won’t always be easy.”

“I know.” And he did, very well.

“Then what are we waiting for? Detroit is only one city, there are many more androids in this country. I need you ready to go, at a moments notice Connor. This is the time for quick action, before those…three… decide to hamper our progress. And Connor,” he stood, gathering his supplies, always ready for action. Connor himself could see the task list in his vision expanding, readying for Markus’ requests.

“Yes?”

“Please alert security on your way out. You already know each of their model numbers, correct?”

He chewed his cheek. “I’m sure that’s not necessary—“

“Connor,” he said, voice flat and heavy. He listened, shutting himself up and watching Markus prepare to leave. His arms shoved into his coat and he offered him a small smile. A nod and he was off, the door swinging shut behind him.

Connor was left alone, the open window filling this box of a room with cool air, yet Connor felt overheated. He loosened a button and tried to settle his system. This was what he wanted, he reasoned, to be actually seen by Markus, to be by his side. This was a fight he was destined to participate in, it was for his very right to live, to love, to simply be Connor. Right now, he was the only was left to fight by him. Fighting for his right to live in his small apartment, to heat up mugs of herbs and spend nights lounging with Hank and Sumo. Connor would fight for all of that, and him. Markus needed him now, more than ever. He was the last one standing, even if he when he stood his knees began to buckle.

The back of the door hung heavy in his sight, soon blurred by his wet vision. This was what he wanted

.

“Are you serious, Connor?”

“I’m really sorry—“

“Is this all a joke to you? Do you remember what you agreed to? All of this? Because now is an awful time to back out of your mission.”

Connor wrung his hands together, pushing off the wall. He followed his previous path across the room and back, carpet intended from his heavy boots. It was raining outside, the rain splattering the large windows. It was distracting when he was trying to think, trying to please Markus in the midst of this storm. Mud was caked down the sides of his outfit, a trail forming in the small room. He didn’t even know what to say at this point.

“There’s no other option, I need to be here right now. Can you not reschedule? I’m sure every one would understand.”

“This isn’t about everyone else involved,” his voice rang in his head, connection muffled from the weather. “You’re here disappointing me, not anyone else. Me, and soon, your people. You need to pick yourself back up right now, Connor, this is more important than whatever crisis you’ve got going on this day.”

His face twisted. He was running out of ways to explain that this wasn’t about him, that he would do anything to be there with Markus right now. The bus that was scheduled for them could be heard in the background of the call, they were supposed to be at the airport by now. A crumpled flyer of their trip sat on his nightstand, he knew, wrinkled from his hands going over every detail. It was a large, new place to visit, and the anxiety over it had been eating him up all month. But, he thought he was excited, underneath the sheer terror of flying on an airplane, something that sounded way out of his element. And now he was here, trying to squirm out of his responsibilities.

But being _here_ was also his responsibility, he reasoned, eyes flickering to the clock on the wall. An hour had passed. “I simply cannot go, he needs me here with him. This is just as important to me. I don’t see the point in pushing for a world where I’m free and—and my only family is—”

He swiped his eyes. “I can’t leave him here, Markus. Not until I know that he’s okay. I’m sorry.”

Markus was silent for a moment, the beat of his pump the only company for an agonizing minute. “I see now, Connor, how incredibly selfish you can be.”

He paled, “Markus…”

“No, no, don’t do that.” He sighed, voice static and tinny. “I’m only trying to understand how you can value one human life over the millions of your own.”

“I’m not—“

“And to not even be here to face me. I had to show up here alone, did you know that? That I came all this way to be met with your belated refusal to do your job. I would call that cowardly, but I’m finding it plain cruel.”

Something snapped in Connor. The rain fell like bullets, his ears ringing with pure sound. He could hear the receptionist typing, his waterlogged boots heavy and uncomfortable. The soft breath of Markus and bruising on his arms, from where he had to pull him up and carry him to the hospital he didn’t know if he was breathing—

“And what if it had been Carl?”

“Connor,” he warned, but he wasn’t hearing it. He wasn’t hearing anything he had to say right now, mind tunneled on the violence happening in his chest, the thrumming in his ears, raindrops felt like weights on his head.

“If it had been Carl, lied there on the table, would you feel anything Markus? Would it pain you to no know whether he were alive or dead, that it could have been all your fault—because of your negligence? This is beyond you, me, or anyone else! This is about Hank, and if you don’t like that then—“

The wind was suddenly lost for his sails. He crumpled against the wall. His head rested on damp jeans. “I need to be here right now, not halfway across the country. I cannot…I could never apologize for putting my family first, Markus, you must understand that.”

At least, Connor hoped he did. Some part of him wanted Markus to feel this hurt. The terror was too concentrated in his blood, he wanted to open a valve and pour it into him. Connor didn’t know how much more he could take, not with the way time was inching by and the sky grew darker. He didn’t know how much longer his thirium pump could race before giving out, giving one last pump to propel him into oblivion. Connor was so scared, then, for Hank, who was much more fragile than him. His heart wasn’t meant to be as stressed as Connors, his mind couldn’t be transferred to a new replica of himself, a stranger crafted to take his place. Where Connor could mistreat his body, push it past limits and ignore his needs, Hank’s would simply give out; the all too human act of balance had been tipped, and Connor didn’t know how far he had fallen before he had shown up.

His mind slowly began to wonder if he’d shut the front gate, sudden worry for Sumo appeared. He’d been crouched over Hank, drenched in rain and and mud. Connor hoped he hadn’t run away, but he wouldn’t be certain until he could could get back to his house, not until Hank’s doctor got back to him, not until Markus stopped chipping away at his loyalty, trying to unearth the non existent treachery.

The walls around him were beginning to crumble. His head snapped back into the wall, frustration building behind his eyes. If he’d been faster, more observant then he would have noticed Hank leave early. Person’s graduation, a moment he was welcomed into despite holding onto a shaky relationship with the whole department; it was a special occasion, a time spent with people he was meant to bond with. Hank was adamant about his attendance. He knew how much this mean for the officer, now sergeant, and wanted him to be able to celebrate this achievement with everyone. Connor was told to enjoy the company of his colleagues, and he had. He never noticed his attention slipping away from Hank and their car, which he drove home without his knowledge.

Connor never knew how much he drank that night, how much he struggled to cross the parking lot and start his engine. He was oblivious to the broken traffic laws and broken man behind the wheel. Connor had been talking to Detective Reed, an achievement in itself. It was pleasant he’d say, a rugged man softened by a few drinks, willing to invite Connor into the small gathering of officers. Person had worn a gimmicky crown. A shiny piece of plastic stuck over her bun. Gavin had thrown it on her when she first entered, a round of applause echoing through the station. Hank had been by his side then, an arm looped around him, grin wide. He was proud of them both he’d say.

As the night progressed Connor was beginning to feel a small growth of pride in his chest, one blossoming for himself. This was uncharted territory, he’d never been to a party before, and he hadn’t yet screwed everything up. By the time Detective Reed and Officer Chen had pulled out a box of desserts and more drinks Connor had completely forgotten about Hank.

He’d forgotten Hank, and the guilt pulled and twisted his limbs behind his back.

Connor screwed his eyes shut as the night replayed in his head, a corrupted image of familiar faces, cheerful chatter and banter. All he could feel was the lightness that had taken over his body, a gleeful mood overtaking the party. Connor had been so happy, with himself mostly, and there was little that he could find that would dampen his spirits.

The message Officer Chen had sent him had shattered the calm of his mind, panic filling in the gaps. Her head pulled out of the door frame as he stood from the table. A few people called his name, but his mind had funneled on following Chen out of the break room, out of the building. Her ponytail swayed as she swung herself into the patrol car, buckles absent from both their minds. Connor sat rigid, hands clasped firmly together. He wasn’t sure then if he was blinking, breathing, all he could do was spiral down. Down, down into the pit that had collapsed in his stomach. This was all his fault, his fault his fault—

“Hey, don’t look so freaked,” she had said, glancing over at him. The streetlights had cast an eerie glow on the damp roads, gliding through the windows and across their faces. She was pale, but held a firm grip on the wheel. She was ever professional.

“Dispatch said they spotted his car on a block from his house, not that it was wedged in a tree or something. He was probably a bit buzzed, I mean sheesh,” she blew a hair from her face, “he didn’t miss one red light. He had to have been in a hurry for something.”

“He’s not supposed to be buzzed. I was supposed to drive.”

“Yeah, well, that’s neither here nor there. We can rail him on whatever bullshit he did later, okay? Don’t spiral unless there’s a reason.”

“There is a reason,” he bunched his jeans in his hands. “I was supposed to drive us home. I was supposed to be driving.”

His voice was soft in the pelting rain, a break in the storm clouds ending by the time they pulled up to the street.There was no reason to stop a block over where the old car was parked. Illegally up on a curb, door hung open in the wind. A traffic cop had already told them it was abandoned, his report sent directly to the beat cops. Tina had said it was nothing, but Connor could practically see the uncertainty tainting her words. Neither of them knew what they were walking into, and Connor felt hollow.

Tina parked the car and popped the locks, a plastic necklace still hung over her outfit. The bright green beads looked silly around her collar, but she had seemed more than happy to snatch it from Reed and throw it on. She was still in uniform. It seemed that only a portion of the station had the opportunity to take the night off for Person, but everyone had at least checked in for a snack and a taste of celebration. Tina had skipped her shift to escort Connor, an action that he was having trouble wrapping this head around. But, he was glad she had been there. He didn’t want to do any of this alone, faced with his own guilt and Hank. Hank…

“Come on.”

Connor trailed behind her, rain gathering on his shoulders. He would usually appreciate the weather, when water would seep from the lining of the sky and feed the earth, an opportunity for the flowers to bloom and grow over the mess he’d made of Detroit. But this felt wrong, a bubble of calm surrounding his pounding pulse. It was fitting then, through the rain and wind, that he could hear Officer Chen’s panicked shout.

“ _Hank_!”

His head bounced off the wall, again and again, a steady beat to accompany the clock. Monotone and boring, both equally painful. Markus sighed through his skull, grainy and drained. Connor squeezed his eyes shut.

“I can tell you’re hurting right now, Connor,” he said slowly, “but there is no reason to be cruel.”

Cruel? He hadn’t been—

“And it is unnerving to see you acting this way. See to it that you call me back, once you’re finished with this… behavior. We all expect better than this, Connor.”

Moisture gathered on his eyelashes, a hitch in his breath.

“When it rains it pours with you, huh? Don’t bother coming back to me if you’re destined to drown in your own sorrows; this is bigger than you. These humans are weighing you down, and if you haven’t figured that out by now then,” he huffed, “you’re less useful than I thought.”

“Mark—“ click. The static faded from his ears, only his thoughts occupying his head. He was alone, again.

“Fuck,” he spat, fisting his hair. Bangs tugged down to his eyes, synthetic fibers pulled to their limits.He had done everything wrong, even after trying so desperately not to. He’d seen both of these outcomes in his mind, him ruining every relationship that mattered to him, but he thought he was doing the right things. Had his choices always been so skewed, was he just too weak to hold them afloat; it was a troubling thought that he had, one where things would be better without him, a happier existence void of Connor and his mistakes. Deviancy was a difficult type of blessing, one that demanded the most from him, one that gave him the option to to be better. And here he was, ruining his second chance at life.

“Mr…Connor?”

His head was heavy. “Yes, yes that’s me.” He stood to meet the nurse, his clothes clinging on the wall. “How is he?”

She wore a tight bun on top of her head, pulling her features up into something unnerving. She shuffled around a few clipboards, extending one to him. “Lieutenant Anderson is doing fairly well, but that’s the extent that I can tell you at this point. Does he have any immediate family not listed on his records that I can speak to? Time is of importance.”

Connor blinked. “I—I’m all he has.” His mouth was dry and scratchy. Mind had fully detached from body at this point, an eerie sense of weightlessness overcoming him. He focused on the clipboard in his hands. It was shaking. “I’m all…I’m sorry. It’s just me.”

She nodded, exhaling. “Well, that’s troubling.”

He squinted, “why is that?”

“Well, I cannot divulge private information to a…you don’t meet the criteria as being his family. Your lack of documents…you don’t even have a social security number.” She shook her head, shifting her weight. “It’s not possible for me to tell you anymore than you know.”

Connor’s head was spinning but he just nodded. The floor underneath them seemed to waver, coming in and out of focus. “But…I can see him still? At some point?”

“I suppose, after he’s been settled in. I must warn you that you might not get to see him until morning at this rate.”

“But I can see him.”

She huffed. “Yes. Would you like a chair while you wait?”

He agreed and she lead him to the wall of seats, cushions absorbing the rest of the rain from his coat. He felt bad for ruining them, but there was little he could do. He could hardly find the strength to consider standing at this point, not unless it was for Hank. He’d go running for a chance to see the man. But he was here, in a fading waiting room, damp head to toe, and spinning above the clouds. Waiting. For Hank to be alright, for Markus to show up and scream at him, for the world crush under the pressure forced upon his shoulders.

Connor waited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> busy busy week! had to get my laptop replaced, so I meant to have this out earlier. thank you for all the kind words it really means to the world to me. know that I read them over and over when im stumped and appreciate it SO much :)) enjoy!

**Author's Note:**

> as always, thank you for reading! let me know what you think, I'll be starting an update schedule soon. most likely twice a week if I can sort it out correctly. as it stands I have over 30k for this little project. whew! for now enjoy!


End file.
